Little Friend
by Glowbug24
Summary: "I knew that you called out to your mother in your sleep. That you felt you couldn't trust me. Your 'little friend' told me all about it." A conversation between Clark Triton and Toppy the mouse. One-shot.


_Author's note: I got my hands on the UK version of Spectre's Call, and found the quote from the summary in the post-game episodes._

 _First of all, Triton family inherent animal-speaking CONFIRMED!_

 _Second of all, I am up at three in the morning writing a one-shot about Clark and Toppy._

 _This is what my life has come to._

* * *

"SQUEAK!"

Clark Triton jerked upright, nearly scattering the pile of papers that had become his impromptu pillow.

 _Wake UP!_ the squeaker continued. _Friend-boy sad-scared-sleeping! Friend-boy want mother! Do something, tall-man-who-not-kick-mice!_

Well, it wasn't the false Doland who'd roused him, that much was certain. Clark rubbed his eyes. "Who's there…?"

 _Toppy. Right. HERE!_ Something—some _one_ —sank a tiny pair of teeth into his hand.

"Ow! Was that really necessary?" He shook out the offended hand, after taking a quick look to ensure his assailant was no longer attached to it. The skin wasn't broken; it seemed the little mouse he now saw on the desk only wanted to get his attention.

 _Boy sleep-squeak very muchly,_ the mouse said. _Toppy can't get to wake up. Boy so sad. Toppy scared._

"Luke?" Clark struggled to parse the little creature's syntax; it had been so long since he'd had time or privacy to strike up any animal conversation. "My son… is crying in his sleep?"

 _Toppy SAID. Man coming, or not?_

"I'll come with you, little friend." He held out a hand. _Heavens, I hope that blackmailing butler is asleep or (god forbid) smashing up town right now._ The mouse clambered into his palm, and down the hall they went.

 _Toppy glad man talk mouse too,_ the mouse said. _Toppy hope, Toppy not sure. Toppy never met anyone listen to mouse before friend-boy._

"Luke can talk to you as well? I hadn't known he had that gift…"

 _Boy good at listening. Toppy need friend, boy need friend. Boy and Toppy friends._

"You have no idea what a relief that is to hear." The closest Luke seemed to have to a human confidant lately was that monster masquerading as Doland. The mouse, well, the mouse at least seemed trustworthy. (Though if he didn't want to be packed off to an insane asylum, he thought he'd best keep that idea to himself.)

Luke's door was locked, as it had been for weeks now. Clark pressed his ear to the wood.

"Mum…" Luke sobbed softly. "Mummy…"

He tapped on the door, gently. "Luke? Son?"

Clark knocked a bit harder; there was a gasp, and the sobs abruptly stopped. Silence, as if Luke was under his covers holding very, very still.

"Are you all right?" Clark asked softly, already knowing the answer. "May I come in?"

No answer.

 _Boy awake,_ the mouse said, _Toppy go see,_ and scurried under the door.

From the room, sleepily: "Toppy?"

"Squeak!" All Clark could make out from this side of the door was affection and concern from the little mouse. Toppy. Luke must have named him.

"I had a nightmare," came Luke's muffled voice. "Is Dad gone yet?"

"Squeak-squeak."

"Oh… okay."

Clark moved slowly away from the door. He shouldn't intervene where he was not wanted.

He doubted he'd be able to sleep. Back to paperwork it was, then.

The mouse returned an hour later. _Man sad too?_

"Oh… hello. Toppy, was it?"

 _Man sad. Toppy sorry. Toppy didn't know._ Toppy nuzzled his hand.

"He wants his mother," Clark said softly. "He thinks I… I don't know."

 _Boy think monster make man mean. Toppy think man not mean. Monster smash-hurt mouse nest. Monster smash-hurt EVERYTHING. Tall man listen to mouse. Tall man sad, not friend of monster. Toppy should tell boy._

"No, please…" He rubbed his eyes. "Luke is… more right than he knows. If I took him into my confidence, I—he would be in so much danger, little friend. So much more. Let him believe as he wishes. Please."

The mouse cocked his head. _Okay. Toppy not like. But Toppy not tell. Toppy keep helping boy._

"You probably shouldn't come see me again, little friend. I wouldn't want our… false butler to get his hands on you."

 _Mean man kick mouse!_ Toppy shrilled.

"Yes, and he's done even worse," Clark told him sadly. "My wife… and the real butler, Doland, who wouldn't hurt a fly if it stung him… I'm afraid, little friend. And Luke… he…" He buried his face in his hands.

Tiny feet ran up his arm. _Toppy help friend-boy always. Toppy help friend-man too?_

Clark reached up to his shoulder to scratch the tiny head. "You have, little friend. If you and my boy have each other… you have helped me more than you know."


End file.
